


Time Ticking By

by GreenRogue



Series: In All their Angsty Hurt [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depressed Sam Winchester, Gen, Heavy Angst, I'm not kidding this is just angst, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 21:16:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20571017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenRogue/pseuds/GreenRogue
Summary: When these nights happen, he lays in his bed, staring at the blank ceiling.A reflection on Sam's emotional state**Set sometime after Season 10 no real time line here





	Time Ticking By

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own SPN or the characters, purely written for fun
> 
> This will be a collection of just angsty shite. Writing is my outlet and when I can't concentrate on life, I go where life doesn't hurt that much and make it bleed.

* * *

There are some nights he just can’t breathe. His lungs are heavy in his chest and he lays awake on the decade’s old mattress, somehow preserved within the bunker, and he struggles to catch his breath. His eyes squeeze shut against the pain and he hisses air between his lips, begging a silent entity to just **_listen._** No one listens though, no one hears the silent screams that echo inside his mind; and once his moment of weakness is over he’s embarrassed by it. Ashamed that he let his inner despair show through for even a moment. He doesn’t have time to be weak, doesn’t have time to think for himself when there is so much more happening out there. Out in the world of monsters and men, where people die everyday from the mundane and the supernatural. Good, innocent people he couldn’t save because he had a moment of weakness.

Usually by now he gives up, rolls out of bed and forces himself to shower, to eat. To do anything that will occupy his mind away from the selfish thoughts that nag at his consciousness. He’s aware this isn’t always healthy, he’s aware that what he does is repress until there is no emotion left to feel. He’s just given up on caring. There’s no time to focus on healthy coping when there is still so much more work to do. Instead he shoves himself into the work, into the family business, and he never hears any complaining for it. He’s accepted for the coping he does, accepted for the endless hunting and researching. Welcomed even when he has the answer for whatever problem lays before them. He has no time to lay his problems at the feet of others.

His problems aren’t really problems anymore, not ones that need time to be reviewed and analyzed. There’s no point in examining what goes on in his head because it should all be fixed, another mark in the column of fuck ups. He can’t just be fixed, and god how he’s tried. How he tried to let go of his failures and forgive himself, how he’s tried to stop reflecting on where he went wrong with every move. But in the end like some sick merry-go-round it always comes back. Always in the dark, always when he’s about to sleep do the thoughts resurface. Always reminding him where he went wrong, why he’s wrong, how he did wrong. Always wrong, wrong, wrong.

When these nights happen, he lays in his bed, staring at the blank ceiling. One hand loosely gripping a small amulet as his thumb runs over the metal grooves. His mind wanders and he remembers. He remembers every wrong turn he’s ever made and how it made everything so much worse. A trip down his worst memories, grounding him, punishing him. Tonight was no different, the steady hum of a generator somewhere in the bunker keeping him from being swallowed into absolute silence. He can hear Dean and Cas somewhere else in the bunker. Their laughter filtering through the small grate in his wall. A blessed moment of peace for them until another problem from Sam’s mistakes crawl its way into their lives.

He doesn’t have the energy to join them, doesn’t have the heart to darken their bright moods so he stays. Stays in the dark of this room with nothing of his to keep him company. He doesn’t have anything to make it his, nothing to show that Sam Winchester once occupied this area. His entire life rests in a duffle bag he has yet to unpack. Doesn’t see the point. Why spread out your life in a room that isn’t yours, why allow your presence to taint something that should be left for the good and just of the world. He doesn’t belong here but he won’t say it. Won’t get in another argument with Dean, he’s too tired.

The metal of the amulet is warm in his grasp and he blinks his eyes hard, remembering that Christmas oh so many years ago. He remembers when the last of his innocence was shattered with truth, the sad broken face of his brother as he watched little Sammy getting put to rest. Now it was Sam, always Sam. Sammy was still pure and innocent, he wasn’t the boy with the demon blood yet. Wasn’t the abomination yet. He was still just a kid, a freak sure, but a kid. One that got to travel the country and listen to horrible rock music with his family.

Sam thinks that’s really where things started to end for him. When he knew what his dad did with the determination of a possessed man. He saw then with clear eyes the soldier he turned Dean into, the solider he tried to turn Sam into. He didn’t see a father anymore. He didn’t see this as an extended family outing, more of a suicide mission. When he no longer had his rose colored glasses of youthful innocence is when things changed. The hardening of his heart, the darkening of his mind. No longer innocent to the world. He never should have been.

Sam rolls over on his bed and stares at the clock on the wall. The ticking second hand moving in a staccato fashion, mesmerizing him in its steady fashion. He watches as the time ticks away, time he’s wasting thinking about himself. He is a waste of time, waste of space. A real freak that should have died years ago in an abandoned town with a knife in his back. His next mistake. A weakness he never will get over, if he had only been strong enough to kill Jake. Kill the man who tried so adamantly to kill him first. But no, he wanted to hold onto that shred of innocence he thought he still had, that shred of humanity that he didn’t want to think was fake. If he could have done what needed to be done, Dean would have never gone to hell, never become heaven’s “righteous man”. Never met Alastair, never had to torture, never have to face the demons that sometimes still haunt in his eyes.

A tightness forms in Sam’s chest and he tries to curl in on himself, tries to stave off the flood of angry tears that threaten to spill. His hand comes up and clenches in his hair, pulling at his scalp. He pulls harder relishing in the pain that distracts him from the building storm in his chest. He doesn’t have time for this, doesn’t have time for the guilt of all his flaws. Time isn’t his to command or enjoy. He’s a slave to it. A slave to the times he’s missed, times he’s ruined everything. It’s true what they say, time is a cruel master. The storm does not abate and now Sam is thumping his fist to the side of his head.

“Stop, stop, stop—” he begs breathlessly. Begging for the pain, or the numbness, he’s not sure anymore. Not sure what could qualify as a better option anymore. He’s clenching the amulet so tightly now, feeling the metal horns pinching against his palm. Everything aches and yet everything is numb. His mind is floating somewhere he doesn’t want to be and his breath still stutters, lungs still burn. There is no stopping it tonight, no holding it back, keeping it in. He needs to break but doesn’t know what damage it will cause. He wants to shout out, to beg for help but he doesn’t deserve it. Doesn’t deserve the warm look from his brother or friend. Doesn’t deserve their comfort or love. He’s ruined them both.

Sam shoves his face into his pillow, unable to hold in the screaming sob anymore. His tongue tastes the cotton of his pillow case. Its rough texture drying out his tongue immediately. He sobs, deep and heavy and tries to curl in on himself more, his stomach screaming in pain from the position. His eyes clenched so tightly tears cannot escape and he just sobs. Flashes of faces and names running full circle through his mind, his legacy of death. He’ll never be rid of the red marks in his ledger, never be free of the countless debts he owes. His body trembles in exhaustion, his eyes bleary when he finally opens them. His sobs retreating to semi-quiet huffs of air. Nearly an hour has passed and the bunker is quiet. His brother either asleep or gone. Sam rolls back onto his back and stares at the ceiling. His eyes burn from the unshed tears and his throat scratches as he swallows, trying to moisten his mouth.

He unsteadily raises himself from his bed and slightly stumbles to his jacket. Slowly he puts the amulet back, giving it a final caress almost like a goodbye. He stares at his reflect in the mirror. Eyes red, face pale. This isn’t the man he thought he would be, this wasn’t what he thought his life would turn out like. Course nothing is ever the way you want, it would be stupid to think it would be. Sam would have just have liked to at least remain human, if just for a little while longer. The clock keeps ticking and Sam closes his eyes a moment.

He runs his hands over his face and through his hair. He slows his breath.


End file.
